Warning: Jacks In The Box

The Eastern Capital Central Bank headquarters was an inconspicuous stone building dwarfed by the sky needle. The corporate office towers to the north were almost double its height. But the building had two helipads at the right and left side of its roof.

A black suited air Marschall waved red glowing wands to direct the helicopter into a smooth landing. A third wand set wrapped in his tail. Two black-suited dragons helped Avelina exit. Heels tapped the stone panel before they let go. Her dress flapped about her legs from the rotor wind.

Grabby tumbled past like a rolling ball. Another world government agent halted his progress. As he bounced backward his body straightened. The leather satchel appeared in his claws.

The helicopter raised, then flew off. The blaring tsunami alarm announcements could be heard from the city broadcast system once the rotors became distant.

The agent with a claw shaped lapel pin on the left side of his jacket reached for the doctor’s bag, “We have orders to relieve you of this artifact. Thank you for delivering it safely.”

“Here you go,” Grabby lifted the bag over his head.

The agent walked to a side entrance. Grabby heard Avelina shouting as he followed.

“I swear that was my son. It looked just like him!”

“Mam, you’re seeing things. We understand the stresses of the situation, but your son is safe at home, far out of range of the disaster area.”

“Then let me go home, let me go home and see for myself! He won’t answer my calls.”

“It’s almost four in the morning, he’s probably sound asleep. You need to get some rest yourself. You look exhausted and it’s clouding your judgement.”

“My judgement is perfectly fine! I need to make sure my son is okay and I won’t give anyone here a moments-”

Avelina slumped over the suited agent. Another dragon behind her returned a large empty needle to its case, “That should keep her calm for the next twelve hours or so. Get her to a bed and make sure she has constant supervision.”

“Got it.”

While the others dealt with Avelina, Grabby’s black leather doctors’ bag was exchanged for Lilly’s brown leather book satchel and Zenobia’s bucket. A duffel bag filled with items cushioned by towels dropped at Grabby’s feet.

“How much weight can you fly with?” the agent asked.

“Hey, just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m a light weight!”

“Sorry, the boss is worried about your injured wing. If you can still manage to assist, he’d highly prefer it.”

“And what exactly does he want me to do?”

“He said you’d know instinctively.”

“He’s not wrong. Okay, fine!” he opened the duffel bag to find an assortment of items from his collection, “Erghhhh, my garage sale artifacts. I guess these will be confiscated later too.”

“You’d be correct. But for now, you’re the only one who knows how to use them.”

“Gah! Fidglesticks! All the artifacts eventually end up in your hands anyway. Or one of the other organizations. Most of the dragons who buy them are connected to the world banks anyway. What’s the big deal if a few middle dragons pay for the privilege of having a little fun with a relatively harmless magic item?”

“Let’s start with what everybody already knows. Because of your side business, several artifacts have been taken by the Sealing Commission or the Dragon Church. Your business activities haven’t been disclosed for taxation. And you never reported the creation of two disaster class artifacts.”

Grabby turned red as he jumped, “I have my reasons. The objects needed time to cure. And I’m the only one who can do it properly. If it wasn’t for imps, you wouldn’t have artifacts at all! So, show some respect!”

The imp and the dragon agent growled at each other. The agent relented, “Fine, take that attitude with the boss and see how far it gets you. You better get moving. He’s expecting you.”

“I will get moving, you’ll see. I’ll show what I’m capable of!”

Grabby hefted the bags over his shoulder and clutched the bucket. At the ledge of the central bank, he unfurled his wings and dropped into a glide over the nearly empty street below. Wings flapped as he swooped upwards on his way to the industrial sector.

-----

Streets approaching the industrial district clogged with vehicles seeking higher ground. Alarms blared on his phone, from the speakers outside, and nearly every radio channel. The digital clock registered four hours and one minute. But the black windowed van didn’t move an inch for the last ten minutes. A scaled palm pressed firmly into the steering wheel as Horrick played with the radio. Finally, a video call came through from local headquarters. The silver haired dragoness with the eyepatch sat at her desk sipping cold coffee.

“Looks like it’s been a long night. I’m stuck in traffic. Any observations about the current situation?”

“Far worse than we thought. The world government is on the verge of obtaining two disaster class or higher artifacts. We need to acquire at least one. Our agents embedded in local law enforcement observed the main artifact to be a household mop. You’ve confirmed the presence of a spellbook, which could prove even more problematic. Seems like they’re five steps ahead of us.”

“Permission to go on foot if needed?”

“Permission granted. At this point in time, you’re our only ace in the hole.”

“I’m more like a jack in the box. Anything else that I need to know?”

The dragoness couldn’t suppress a laugh, “Proceed with caution. The mop is a confirmed threat. It’s already caused one confirmed casualty among our embedded agents. Several police officers have been confirmed killed in action. The localized tsunami is its doing. We’ll debrief everyone later. Optional rendezvous with group Zeta at East Oil. Otherwise take the initiative as you see fit.”

“Roger that.”

Once the call ended, Horrick sat for a long moment staring out his front window before laying on the horn. Traffic didn’t respond even though he was going toward the coast. Was there a turn-off? He looked out the window to spot police barricades in the distance. Some of the vehicles ahead of him had no occupants.

With no place to park and traffic stalled, he wrote a note on the dash and left the key on the seat. His pistol rested in his holster. He had his keys, and the wallet containing his badge.

The van with tinted windows sat empty in traffic. Horrick pushed against a crowd that gave him suspicious looks as he jogged downhill. The refinery towers peeked from the stained buildings as they entered his line of sight.